Black-Mage-Blog
by CynicalJay
Summary: Nothing to get excited about. Just my own view on how Zeref would blog. Gotta love the guy. I take no credit for the handsome picture of Zeref used as the cover Image.


AN: Just my own take on if a certain "bad guy" had a blog. I don't own Fairy Tail or it's characters.

I've been doing a lot of thinking today. Days like this leave with too much time and very little thought-provocation.

Where to start is something I haven't quite thought of though.

I used to have a dream. A simple dream, a dream I felt was pretty easily met.

My dream was to have a family, a happy family. One I could support by myself easily if I needed to. To be loved by my family, be their hero. Giving them what they needed and always being there for them. But my dream has died. As if my dream were slowly spiralling tendrils of smoke wafting into the night air and away from an offending cigarette.

I'm unhappy. Is that anyone's fault? Yes and no. Your fault? Yes, maybe. My fault? Yes, probably. But why? Why is it anyone's fault that I'm unhappy?

Because I have an opinion. My own views, beliefs and theories.

That is the problem. Because of these opinions, we clash. And the same can be said about the entire human race. All that "Be yourself" and "believe what feels right to you" is crap.

I don't want it. To have an opinion. Beliefs. Views. I don't want it. I hate it. When they differ from another person's, then I get angry or upset. I believe that person to be wrong or stupid. Is that the case? From my point of view, yes. But what makes me right? Who says I'm not the one in the wrong? Society? That doesn't sound very fair.

Fairness. That's another thing I hate. Hatred, yet another. Happiness, love, joy… these things are not worth the cost of being angry, jealous, and sad. It's dumb. But we can't have one without the other; they're part of the package. And that's the issue. For me, I don't want any of it. I don't want to want, I want to need anything. Food. Love. Air. Validation. Sense of smell. It's all useless.

The only thing I don't hate (yet) is Death. Death has yet to disappoint me (Disappointment is another one we can add to the endless list of crap I don't want). So, you may be asking yourself; "So why not kill yourself, you miserable-git?"

Now, that is a thought that has crossed my mind several times in my very dark and chequered past. So many times. Including, jokes aside, today.

My excuse for not wanting to do the deed was always "But what will people left behind think of me?" or "I don't want to have the legacy of a coward, or hurt those that love me."

Would I be a coward?

I suppose so, yes. Killing myself to stop this existence crap can be seen as me running away and not wanting to deal with it. Would I consider it cowardly? No. I'd be running away as much as someone who doesn't want to finish their meal due to feeling full would be considered a coward for not conquering a full plate of food.

Getting back to it now though, Suicide.

Worrying about what people will think of me after I've died seems like a stupid concept. I'd be dead. Granted nothing is known about the afterlife (if we have one). So, there is always a chance that I could be sent to hell for not finishing "my plate of food" that I never asked for, and don't seem allowed to leave as the rest of the dinner guests shoot me dirty looks if I even hint at being full, as my desire to eat the meal that's gone cold and lost any all aesthetic appeal is as gone as my own virginity (the desire for intimacy and sex can be added to the list too).

As I was saying, worrying would be stupid. I'd be dead and the truth of the matter is, the people in my life would get over it and move on. Of course there would be sadness and tears (another for the list), but it would pass. The human mind gets bored. New things always come into play and distract it (list).

I could count the people that would miss me on one hand, and still have fingers left.

I do hate the idea of being a bother to those "close" to me. So I would probably take a page out of the Cat's book. Go somewhere far away and die so as not to lure scavengers back to my lair.

I've honestly had it. It's all just a little bit too silly.

Emotions. Instincts. Thoughts. Theories. Relationships. Life.

It's all a waste.

What would happen after my Death?

Would I transcend this realm and simply join another not-quite-as-pointless-but-not-that-far-off universe with different ideas and opinions?

Would I simply cease to be? The blacking out of movie screen and nil.

Would I meet some higher power or creator? Find out that our existence is entirely an accident, that the human race is the mould that grew on the toast that is the earth after being left too close to the sun.

So many questions. They make my head spin. Also something I feel superfluous.

I could go on about all the things I don't want or need. The list would cover everything. People in my life would be happier this way. They may argue that fact if I were to point it out to them, but it would… you guessed it, be a waste.

There would be so much they'd be able to do without worrying about how it would affect me, or how I would feel. Because I wouldn't care. Why? I don't want to. It's silly.

I'm at the point where nothing excites me. Intrigues me. Everything feels like a waste. Counterproductive. All of it.

Do I want to know the meaning of life? No. My own purpose, sure. That would be great.

Now you may have read through this and thought, "Shame! Poor bastard! This obviously a cry for help!"

I'm afraid my point of view would dictate that you're wrong. I don't want help. Unless you are some sort of demigod ready to imbue me with power and assist in destroying the world and all it's inhabitants. Otherwise, no. You can't help. You can't fix what isn't broken. You can throw it out and buy a new one though.

Whether I did come to the conclusion of whether or not to commit suicide, you, dear reader will probably never know… Unless it's too late! Dum dum dum! Joking.

Too late wouldn't even be a factor really. "It's never too late", as that ill-understood and poorly-used-in-this-context saying goes.

Perhaps though, suicide isn't the option I want...

Maybe I can be the one to assist Death in his little collection quest...

Hmph. I'm tired. I'm done.

I am Zeref.


End file.
